Don Quixote

WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE AND DELIGHTFUL ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL THE
CURATE AND THE BARBER IN THE SAME SIERRA
Happy and fortunate were the times when that most daring knight Don
Quixote of La Mancha was sent into the world; for by reason of his
having formed a resolution so honourable as that of seeking to revive
and restore to the world the long-lost and almost defunct order of
knight-errantry, we now enjoy in this age of ours, so poor in light
entertainment, not only the charm of his veracious history, but also of
the tales and episodes contained in it which are, in a measure, no less
pleasing, ingenious, and truthful, than the history itself; which,
resuming its thread, carded, spun, and wound, relates that just as the
curate was going to offer consolation to Cardenio, he was interrupted
by a voice that fell upon his ear saying in plaintive tones:

“O God! is it possible I have found a place that may serve as a secret
grave for the weary load of this body that I support so unwillingly? If
the solitude these mountains promise deceives me not, it is so; ah! woe
is me! how much more grateful to my mind will be the society of these
rocks and brakes that permit me to complain of my misfortune to Heaven,
than that of any human being, for there is none on earth to look to for
counsel in doubt, comfort in sorrow, or relief in distress!”

All this was heard distinctly by the curate and those with him, and as
it seemed to them to be uttered close by, as indeed it was, they got up
to look for the speaker, and before they had gone twenty paces they
discovered behind a rock, seated at the foot of an ash tree, a youth in
the dress of a peasant, whose face they were unable at the moment to
see as he was leaning forward, bathing his feet in the brook that
flowed past. They approached so silently that he did not perceive them,
being fully occupied in bathing his feet, which were so fair that they
looked like two pieces of shining crystal brought forth among the other
stones of the brook. The whiteness and beauty of these feet struck them
with surprise, for they did not seem to have been made to crush clods
or to follow the plough and the oxen as their owner’s dress suggested;
and so, finding they had not been noticed, the curate, who was in
front, made a sign to the other two to conceal themselves behind some
fragments of rock that lay there; which they did, observing closely
what the youth was about. He had on a loose double-skirted dark brown
jacket bound tight to his body with a white cloth; he wore besides
breeches and gaiters of brown cloth, and on his head a brown montera;
and he had the gaiters turned up as far as the middle of the leg, which
verily seemed to be of pure alabaster.
As soon as he had done bathing his beautiful feet, he wiped them with a
towel he took from under the montera, on taking off which he raised his
face, and those who were watching him had an opportunity of seeing a
beauty so exquisite that Cardenio said to the curate in a whisper:

“As this is not Luscinda, it is no human creature but a divine being.”

The youth then took off the montera, and shaking his head from side to
side there broke loose and spread out a mass of hair that the beams of
the sun might have envied; by this they knew that what had seemed a
peasant was a lovely woman, nay the most beautiful the eyes of two of
them had ever beheld, or even Cardenio’s if they had not seen and known
Luscinda, for he afterwards declared that only the beauty of Luscinda
could compare with this. The long auburn tresses not only covered her
shoulders, but such was their length and abundance, concealed her all
round beneath their masses, so that except the feet nothing of her form
was visible. She now used her hands as a comb, and if her feet had
seemed like bits of crystal in the water, her hands looked like pieces
of driven snow among her locks; all which increased not only the
admiration of the three beholders, but their anxiety to learn who she
was. With this object they resolved to show themselves, and at the stir
they made in getting upon their feet the fair damsel raised her head,
and parting her hair from before her eyes with both hands, she looked
to see who had made the noise, and the instant she perceived them she
started to her feet, and without waiting to put on her shoes or gather
up her hair, hastily snatched up a bundle as though of clothes that she
had beside her, and, scared and alarmed, endeavoured to take flight;
but before she had gone six paces she fell to the ground, her delicate
feet being unable to bear the roughness of the stones; seeing which,
the three hastened towards her, and the curate addressing her first
said:

“Stay, señora, whoever you may be, for those whom you see here only
desire to be of service to you; you have no need to attempt a flight so
heedless, for neither can your feet bear it, nor we allow it.”

Taken by surprise and bewildered, she made no reply to these words.
They, however, came towards her, and the curate taking her hand went on
to say:

“What your dress would hide, señora, is made known to us by your hair;
a clear proof that it can be no trifling cause that has disguised your
beauty in a garb so unworthy of it, and sent it into solitudes like
these where we have had the good fortune to find you, if not to relieve
your distress, at least to offer you comfort; for no distress, so long
as life lasts, can be so oppressive or reach such a height as to make
the sufferer refuse to listen to comfort offered with good intention.
And so, señora, or señor, or whatever you prefer to be, dismiss the
fears that our appearance has caused you and make us acquainted with
your good or evil fortunes, for from all of us together, or from each
one of us, you will receive sympathy in your trouble.”

While the curate was speaking, the disguised damsel stood as if
spell-bound, looking at them without opening her lips or uttering a
word, just like a village rustic to whom something strange that he has
never seen before has been suddenly shown; but on the curate addressing
some further words to the same effect to her, sighing deeply she broke
silence and said:

“Since the solitude of these mountains has been unable to conceal me,
and the escape of my dishevelled tresses will not allow my tongue to
deal in falsehoods, it would be idle for me now to make any further
pretence of what, if you were to believe me, you would believe more out
of courtesy than for any other reason. This being so, I say I thank
you, sirs, for the offer you have made me, which places me under the
obligation of complying with the request you have made of me; though I
fear the account I shall give you of my misfortunes will excite in you
as much concern as compassion, for you will be unable to suggest
anything to remedy them or any consolation to alleviate them. However,
that my honour may not be left a matter of doubt in your minds, now
that you have discovered me to be a woman, and see that I am young,
alone, and in this dress, things that taken together or separately
would be enough to destroy any good name, I feel bound to tell what I
would willingly keep secret if I could.”

All this she who was now seen to be a lovely woman delivered without
any hesitation, with so much ease and in so sweet a voice that they
were not less charmed by her intelligence than by her beauty, and as
they again repeated their offers and entreaties to her to fulfil her
promise, she without further pressing, first modestly covering her feet
and gathering up her hair, seated herself on a stone with the three
placed around her, and, after an effort to restrain some tears that
came to her eyes, in a clear and steady voice began her story thus:

“In this Andalusia there is a town from which a duke takes a title
which makes him one of those that are called Grandees of Spain. This
nobleman has two sons, the elder heir to his dignity and apparently to
his good qualities; the younger heir to I know not what, unless it be
the treachery of Vellido and the falsehood of Ganelon. My parents are
this lord’s vassals, lowly in origin, but so wealthy that if birth had
conferred as much on them as fortune, they would have had nothing left
to desire, nor should I have had reason to fear trouble like that in
which I find myself now; for it may be that my ill fortune came of
theirs in not having been nobly born. It is true they are not so low
that they have any reason to be ashamed of their condition, but neither
are they so high as to remove from my mind the impression that my
mishap comes of their humble birth. They are, in short, peasants, plain
homely people, without any taint of disreputable blood, and, as the
saying is, old rusty Christians, but so rich that by their wealth and
free-handed way of life they are coming by degrees to be considered
gentlefolk by birth, and even by position; though the wealth and
nobility they thought most of was having me for their daughter; and as
they have no other child to make their heir, and are affectionate
parents, I was one of the most indulged daughters that ever parents
indulged.

“I was the mirror in which they beheld themselves, the staff of their
old age, and the object in which, with submission to Heaven, all their
wishes centred, and mine were in accordance with theirs, for I knew
their worth; and as I was mistress of their hearts, so was I also of
their possessions. Through me they engaged or dismissed their servants;
through my hands passed the accounts and returns of what was sown and
reaped; the oil-mills, the wine-presses, the count of the flocks and
herds, the beehives, all in short that a rich farmer like my father has
or can have, I had under my care, and I acted as steward and mistress
with an assiduity on my part and satisfaction on theirs that I cannot
well describe to you. The leisure hours left to me after I had given
the requisite orders to the head-shepherds, overseers, and other
labourers, I passed in such employments as are not only allowable but
necessary for young girls, those that the needle, embroidery cushion,
and spinning wheel usually afford, and if to refresh my mind I quitted
them for a while, I found recreation in reading some devotional book or
playing the harp, for experience taught me that music soothes the
troubled mind and relieves weariness of spirit. Such was the life I led
in my parents’ house and if I have depicted it thus minutely, it is not
out of ostentation, or to let you know that I am rich, but that you may
see how, without any fault of mine, I have fallen from the happy
condition I have described, to the misery I am in at present. The truth
is, that while I was leading this busy life, in a retirement that might
compare with that of a monastery, and unseen as I thought by any except
the servants of the house (for when I went to Mass it was so early in
the morning, and I was so closely attended by my mother and the women
of the household, and so thickly veiled and so shy, that my eyes
scarcely saw more ground than I trod on), in spite of all this, the
eyes of love, or idleness, more properly speaking, that the lynx’s
cannot rival, discovered me, with the help of the assiduity of Don
Fernando; for that is the name of the younger son of the duke I told
of.”

The moment the speaker mentioned the name of Don Fernando, Cardenio
changed colour and broke into a sweat, with such signs of emotion that
the curate and the barber, who observed it, feared that one of the mad
fits which they heard attacked him sometimes was coming upon him; but
Cardenio showed no further agitation and remained quiet, regarding the
peasant girl with fixed attention, for he began to suspect who she was.
She, however, without noticing the excitement of Cardenio, continuing
her story, went on to say:

“And they had hardly discovered me, when, as he owned afterwards, he
was smitten with a violent love for me, as the manner in which it
displayed itself plainly showed. But to shorten the long recital of my
woes, I will pass over in silence all the artifices employed by Don
Fernando for declaring his passion for me. He bribed all the household,
he gave and offered gifts and presents to my parents; every day was
like a holiday or a merry-making in our street; by night no one could
sleep for the music; the love letters that used to come to my hand, no
one knew how, were innumerable, full of tender pleadings and pledges,
containing more promises and oaths than there were letters in them; all
which not only did not soften me, but hardened my heart against him, as
if he had been my mortal enemy, and as if everything he did to make me
yield were done with the opposite intention. Not that the high-bred
bearing of Don Fernando was disagreeable to me, or that I found his
importunities wearisome; for it gave me a certain sort of satisfaction
to find myself so sought and prized by a gentleman of such distinction,
and I was not displeased at seeing my praises in his letters (for
however ugly we women may be, it seems to me it always pleases us to
hear ourselves called beautiful) but that my own sense of right was
opposed to all this, as well as the repeated advice of my parents, who
now very plainly perceived Don Fernando’s purpose, for he cared very
little if all the world knew it. They told me they trusted and confided
their honour and good name to my virtue and rectitude alone, and bade
me consider the disparity between Don Fernando and myself, from which I
might conclude that his intentions, whatever he might say to the
contrary, had for their aim his own pleasure rather than my advantage;
and if I were at all desirous of opposing an obstacle to his
unreasonable suit, they were ready, they said, to marry me at once to
anyone I preferred, either among the leading people of our own town, or
of any of those in the neighbourhood; for with their wealth and my good
name, a match might be looked for in any quarter. This offer, and their
sound advice strengthened my resolution, and I never gave Don Fernando
a word in reply that could hold out to him any hope of success, however
remote.
“All this caution of mine, which he must have taken for coyness, had
apparently the effect of increasing his wanton appetite—for that is the
name I give to his passion for me; had it been what he declared it to
be, you would not know of it now, because there would have been no
occasion to tell you of it. At length he learned that my parents were
contemplating marriage for me in order to put an end to his hopes of
obtaining possession of me, or at least to secure additional protectors
to watch over me, and this intelligence or suspicion made him act as
you shall hear. One night, as I was in my chamber with no other
companion than a damsel who waited on me, with the doors carefully
locked lest my honour should be imperilled through any carelessness, I
know not nor can conceive how it happened, but, with all this seclusion
and these precautions, and in the solitude and silence of my
retirement, I found him standing before me, a vision that so astounded
me that it deprived my eyes of sight, and my tongue of speech. I had no
power to utter a cry, nor, I think, did he give me time to utter one,
as he immediately approached me, and taking me in his arms (for,
overwhelmed as I was, I was powerless, I say, to help myself), he began
to make such professions to me that I know not how falsehood could have
had the power of dressing them up to seem so like truth; and the
traitor contrived that his tears should vouch for his words, and his
sighs for his sincerity.

“I, a poor young creature alone, ill versed among my people in cases
such as this, began, I know not how, to think all these lying
protestations true, though without being moved by his sighs and tears
to anything more than pure compassion; and so, as the first feeling of
bewilderment passed away, and I began in some degree to recover myself,
I said to him with more courage than I thought I could have possessed,
‘If, as I am now in your arms, señor, I were in the claws of a fierce
lion, and my deliverance could be procured by doing or saying anything
to the prejudice of my honour, it would no more be in my power to do it
or say it, than it would be possible that what was should not have
been; so then, if you hold my body clasped in your arms, I hold my soul
secured by virtuous intentions, very different from yours, as you will
see if you attempt to carry them into effect by force. I am your
vassal, but I am not your slave; your nobility neither has nor should
have any right to dishonour or degrade my humble birth; and low-born
peasant as I am, I have my self-respect as much as you, a lord and
gentleman: with me your violence will be to no purpose, your wealth
will have no weight, your words will have no power to deceive me, nor
your sighs or tears to soften me: were I to see any of the things I
speak of in him whom my parents gave me as a husband, his will should
be mine, and mine should be bounded by his; and my honour being
preserved even though my inclinations were not would willingly yield
him what you, señor, would now obtain by force; and this I say lest you
should suppose that any but my lawful husband shall ever win anything
of me.’ ‘If that,’ said this disloyal gentleman, ‘be the only scruple
you feel, fairest Dorothea’ (for that is the name of this unhappy
being), ‘see here I give you my hand to be yours, and let Heaven, from
which nothing is hid, and this image of Our Lady you have here, be
witnesses of this pledge.’”
When Cardenio heard her say she was called Dorothea, he showed fresh
agitation and felt convinced of the truth of his former suspicion, but
he was unwilling to interrupt the story, and wished to hear the end of
what he already all but knew, so he merely said:

“What! is Dorothea your name, señora? I have heard of another of the
same name who can perhaps match your misfortunes. But proceed;
by-and-by I may tell you something that will astonish you as much as it
will excite your compassion.”

Dorothea was struck by Cardenio’s words as well as by his strange and
miserable attire, and begged him if he knew anything concerning her to
tell it to her at once, for if fortune had left her any blessing it was
courage to bear whatever calamity might fall upon her, as she felt sure
that none could reach her capable of increasing in any degree what she
endured already.

“I would not let the occasion pass, señora,” replied Cardenio, “of
telling you what I think, if what I suspect were the truth, but so far
there has been no opportunity, nor is it of any importance to you to
know it.”

“Be it as it may,” replied Dorothea, “what happened in my story was
that Don Fernando, taking an image that stood in the chamber, placed it
as a witness of our betrothal, and with the most binding words and
extravagant oaths gave me his promise to become my husband; though
before he had made an end of pledging himself I bade him consider well
what he was doing, and think of the anger his father would feel at
seeing him married to a peasant girl and one of his vassals; I told him
not to let my beauty, such as it was, blind him, for that was not
enough to furnish an excuse for his transgression; and if in the love
he bore me he wished to do me any kindness, it would be to leave my lot
to follow its course at the level my condition required; for marriages
so unequal never brought happiness, nor did they continue long to
afford the enjoyment they began with.

“All this that I have now repeated I said to him, and much more which I
cannot recollect; but it had no effect in inducing him to forego his
purpose; he who has no intention of paying does not trouble himself
about difficulties when he is striking the bargain. At the same time I
argued the matter briefly in my own mind, saying to myself, ‘I shall
not be the first who has risen through marriage from a lowly to a lofty
station, nor will Don Fernando be the first whom beauty or, as is more
likely, a blind attachment, has led to mate himself below his rank.
Then, since I am introducing no new usage or practice, I may as well
avail myself of the honour that chance offers me, for even though his
inclination for me should not outlast the attainment of his wishes, I
shall be, after all, his wife before God. And if I strive to repel him
by scorn, I can see that, fair means failing, he is in a mood to use
force, and I shall be left dishonoured and without any means of proving
my innocence to those who cannot know how innocently I have come to be
in this position; for what arguments would persuade my parents that
this gentleman entered my chamber without my consent?’

“All these questions and answers passed through my mind in a moment;
but the oaths of Don Fernando, the witnesses he appealed to, the tears
he shed, and lastly the charms of his person and his high-bred grace,
which, accompanied by such signs of genuine love, might well have
conquered a heart even more free and coy than mine—these were the
things that more than all began to influence me and lead me unawares to
my ruin. I called my waiting-maid to me, that there might be a witness
on earth besides those in Heaven, and again Don Fernando renewed and
repeated his oaths, invoked as witnesses fresh saints in addition to
the former ones, called down upon himself a thousand curses hereafter
should he fail to keep his promise, shed more tears, redoubled his
sighs and pressed me closer in his arms, from which he had never
allowed me to escape; and so I was left by my maid, and ceased to be
one, and he became a traitor and a perjured man.

“The day which followed the night of my misfortune did not come so
quickly, I imagine, as Don Fernando wished, for when desire has
attained its object, the greatest pleasure is to fly from the scene of
pleasure. I say so because Don Fernando made all haste to leave me, and
by the adroitness of my maid, who was indeed the one who had admitted
him, gained the street before daybreak; but on taking leave of me he
told me, though not with as much earnestness and fervour as when he
came, that I might rest assured of his faith and of the sanctity and
sincerity of his oaths; and to confirm his words he drew a rich ring
off his finger and placed it upon mine. He then took his departure and
I was left, I know not whether sorrowful or happy; all I can say is, I
was left agitated and troubled in mind and almost bewildered by what
had taken place, and I had not the spirit, or else it did not occur to
me, to chide my maid for the treachery she had been guilty of in
concealing Don Fernando in my chamber; for as yet I was unable to make
up my mind whether what had befallen me was for good or evil. I told
Don Fernando at parting, that as I was now his, he might see me on
other nights in the same way, until it should be his pleasure to let
the matter become known; but, except the following night, he came no
more, nor for more than a month could I catch a glimpse of him in the
street or in church, while I wearied myself with watching for one;
although I knew he was in the town, and almost every day went out
hunting, a pastime he was very fond of. I remember well how sad and
dreary those days and hours were to me; I remember well how I began to
doubt as they went by, and even to lose confidence in the faith of Don
Fernando; and I remember, too, how my maid heard those words in reproof
of her audacity that she had not heard before, and how I was forced to
put a constraint on my tears and on the expression of my countenance,
not to give my parents cause to ask me why I was so melancholy, and
drive me to invent falsehoods in reply. But all this was suddenly
brought to an end, for the time came when all such considerations were
disregarded, and there was no further question of honour, when my
patience gave way and the secret of my heart became known abroad. The
reason was, that a few days later it was reported in the town that Don
Fernando had been married in a neighbouring city to a maiden of rare
beauty, the daughter of parents of distinguished position, though not
so rich that her portion would entitle her to look for so brilliant a
match; it was said, too, that her name was Luscinda, and that at the
betrothal some strange things had happened.”

Cardenio heard the name of Luscinda, but he only shrugged his
shoulders, bit his lips, bent his brows, and before long two streams of
tears escaped from his eyes. Dorothea, however, did not interrupt her
story, but went on in these words:

“This sad intelligence reached my ears, and, instead of being struck
with a chill, with such wrath and fury did my heart burn that I
scarcely restrained myself from rushing out into the streets, crying
aloud and proclaiming openly the perfidy and treachery of which I was
the victim; but this transport of rage was for the time checked by a
resolution I formed, to be carried out the same night, and that was to
assume this dress, which I got from a servant of my father’s, one of
the zagals, as they are called in farmhouses, to whom I confided the
whole of my misfortune, and whom I entreated to accompany me to the
city where I heard my enemy was. He, though he remonstrated with me for
my boldness, and condemned my resolution, when he saw me bent upon my
purpose, offered to bear me company, as he said, to the end of the
world. I at once packed up in a linen pillow-case a woman’s dress, and
some jewels and money to provide for emergencies, and in the silence of
the night, without letting my treacherous maid know, I sallied forth
from the house, accompanied by my servant and abundant anxieties, and
on foot set out for the city, but borne as it were on wings by my
eagerness to reach it, if not to prevent what I presumed to be already
done, at least to call upon Don Fernando to tell me with what
conscience he had done it. I reached my destination in two days and a
half, and on entering the city inquired for the house of Luscinda’s
parents. The first person I asked gave me more in reply than I sought
to know; he showed me the house, and told me all that had occurred at
the betrothal of the daughter of the family, an affair of such
notoriety in the city that it was the talk of every knot of idlers in
the street. He said that on the night of Don Fernando’s betrothal with
Luscinda, as soon as she had consented to be his bride by saying ‘Yes,’
she was taken with a sudden fainting fit, and that on the bridegroom
approaching to unlace the bosom of her dress to give her air, he found
a paper in her own handwriting, in which she said and declared that she
could not be Don Fernando’s bride, because she was already Cardenio’s,
who, according to the man’s account, was a gentleman of distinction of
the same city; and that if she had accepted Don Fernando, it was only
in obedience to her parents. In short, he said, the words of the paper
made it clear she meant to kill herself on the completion of the
betrothal, and gave her reasons for putting an end to herself all which
was confirmed, it was said, by a dagger they found somewhere in her
clothes. On seeing this, Don Fernando, persuaded that Luscinda had
befooled, slighted, and trifled with him, assailed her before she had
recovered from her swoon, and tried to stab her with the dagger that
had been found, and would have succeeded had not her parents and those
who were present prevented him. It was said, moreover, that Don
Fernando went away at once, and that Luscinda did not recover from her
prostration until the next day, when she told her parents how she was
really the bride of that Cardenio I have mentioned. I learned besides
that Cardenio, according to report, had been present at the betrothal;
and that upon seeing her betrothed contrary to his expectation, he had
quitted the city in despair, leaving behind him a letter declaring the
wrong Luscinda had done him, and his intention of going where no one
should ever see him again. All this was a matter of notoriety in the
city, and everyone spoke of it; especially when it became known that
Luscinda was missing from her father’s house and from the city, for she
was not to be found anywhere, to the distraction of her parents, who
knew not what steps to take to recover her. What I learned revived my
hopes, and I was better pleased not to have found Don Fernando than to
find him married, for it seemed to me that the door was not yet
entirely shut upon relief in my case, and I thought that perhaps Heaven
had put this impediment in the way of the second marriage, to lead him
to recognise his obligations under the former one, and reflect that as
a Christian he was bound to consider his soul above all human objects.
All this passed through my mind, and I strove to comfort myself without
comfort, indulging in faint and distant hopes of cherishing that life
that I now abhor.

“But while I was in the city, uncertain what to do, as I could not find
Don Fernando, I heard notice given by the public crier offering a great
reward to anyone who should find me, and giving the particulars of my
age and of the very dress I wore; and I heard it said that the lad who
came with me had taken me away from my father’s house; a thing that cut
me to the heart, showing how low my good name had fallen, since it was
not enough that I should lose it by my flight, but they must add with
whom I had fled, and that one so much beneath me and so unworthy of my
consideration. The instant I heard the notice I quitted the city with
my servant, who now began to show signs of wavering in his fidelity to
me, and the same night, for fear of discovery, we entered the most
thickly wooded part of these mountains. But, as is commonly said, one
evil calls up another and the end of one misfortune is apt to be the
beginning of one still greater, and so it proved in my case; for my
worthy servant, until then so faithful and trusty when he found me in
this lonely spot, moved more by his own villainy than by my beauty,
sought to take advantage of the opportunity which these solitudes
seemed to present him, and with little shame and less fear of God and
respect for me, began to make overtures to me; and finding that I
replied to the effrontery of his proposals with justly severe language,
he laid aside the entreaties which he had employed at first, and began
to use violence.
“But just Heaven, that seldom fails to watch over and aid good
intentions, so aided mine that with my slight strength and with little
exertion I pushed him over a precipice, where I left him, whether dead
or alive I know not; and then, with greater speed than seemed possible
in my terror and fatigue, I made my way into the mountains, without any
other thought or purpose save that of hiding myself among them, and
escaping my father and those despatched in search of me by his orders.
It is now I know not how many months since with this object I came
here, where I met a herdsman who engaged me as his servant at a place
in the heart of this Sierra, and all this time I have been serving him
as herd, striving to keep always afield to hide these locks which have
now unexpectedly betrayed me. But all my care and pains were
unavailing, for my master made the discovery that I was not a man, and
harboured the same base designs as my servant; and as fortune does not
always supply a remedy in cases of difficulty, and I had no precipice
or ravine at hand down which to fling the master and cure his passion,
as I had in the servant’s case, I thought it a lesser evil to leave him
and again conceal myself among these crags, than make trial of my
strength and argument with him. So, as I say, once more I went into
hiding to seek for some place where I might with sighs and tears
implore Heaven to have pity on my misery, and grant me help and
strength to escape from it, or let me die among the solitudes, leaving
no trace of an unhappy being who, by no fault of hers, has furnished
matter for talk and scandal at home and abroad.”

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